


Saturday's Rest

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Bonding, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Damian is trying hard to take care of his dad, Fluff, Gardens & Gardening, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Damian notices his dad is feeling bad and works to fix that.





	Saturday's Rest

Damian cupped green leaves in his palm and lifted them to tuck the nozzle of his watering can close to the freshly packed soil and poured, soaking everything until it was dark and fragrant.

He moved to the next newly planted seedling, and the next, moving down the line in a crab-step, pour, step, pattern of focus and intent. Still looking down at the barely budding herbs he stepped over and right into a large warm body, oofing as he lost his balance, and almost fell backwards.

Father caught him, setting him back on the ground firmly as if Damian were the one being planted instead of the bright mint and thyme. He blinked up at his father, a tower protecting him from the sun and frowned. Damian should not have caught up with him so quickly, if at all.

They had begun the planting of seedlings carefully grown along the windowsill in the kitchen early that morning. There were more than the herb seedlings to plant, Pennyworth had purchased a number of new flowers and vegetable plants to replace those that had not survived Gotham’s winter, or Titus’s fleeting dance with digging. The goal of both father and son had been to fill the plot Alfred had set aside for this very task. Preferably, before lunch when even the early Spring weather would be hotter than either cared to plant in.

It was a good way to spend a Saturday. Damian liked the work, and he liked working beside his father better. It was different than working in the cave or patroling the city. This was softer, more relaxed, there was no violence, only the nurturing of life.

Father had planned their morning before they had set out. First they had dug holes for the seedlings, working towards the center to battle over the final hole.

Damian had won of course, as shown by Father’s tiny smile when he’d speared the ground with his trowel before Father could move to lift his. It had been a victorious moment, delightful in its absurdity, and the very last of those as they’d moved to the second stage.

He had collected water in his can for them as Father began settling seedlings into their holes, and packing down the earth one at a time. Damian had come behind him, already a row behind, to soak each new transplant. His numerous trips to refill the can should have meant Damian would not catch up, and yet here they were blinking at each other.

Father’s shoulders were tense, perhaps from the activity, or something else. His brows were knit as if he was staring at the sun and not Damian. He rolled one shoulder, then the other, and his neck, pop pop popping joints there. This too made Damian frown.

Something was off. Before Damian could determine what that something was, Father had stood, and moved to the table where Pennyworth had left water bottles. He drained half his.

“Do you want yours?” Father asked.

Damian shook his head no, he had been pausing to drink from his bottle as he’d refilled his watering can. Father nodded and returned to his side, and stayed standing, looking out over their work.

He seemed to be gauging the time, checking his watch and nodding his head ever so much as he scanned seedlings and empty holes.

Father crouched down again. Damian watched him with sharp eyes. With the attention Mother had drilled into him, an attacker searching for the weakness in their opponent. Damian was not planning to attack his father, but he needed to determine what had changed.

His father crouched as if the movement pained him, it was not fluid nor smooth. He moved, and his legs seemed to jerk, ever so slightly against it. Damian would not have noticed if he had still been working. Most people would not notice the hesitation, not even if they were looking for it.

Father pressed steadying palms to his thighs, and clenched his jaw as he settled into the crouch. None of these were particularly alarming reactions. Damian himself had grown tired of crouching over the plants, and had sat down fully into the moist soil more than once.

Still. It was something to keep an eye on.

They worked, closer together now. Even Damian’s absences to refill his can did not increase Father’s lead by much. When he had finished watering the final seedling in the row, he looked up to find Father moving back to the table.

Perhaps he was simply in need of moving more than the constant crouching and crab walking. That was the most obvious solution to Father’s oddness. After all, he did not have the break that was refilling the watering can like Damian did. It seemed right, and yet Damian could not shake the thought that he was still incorrect in his assumption.

Father took so long at the table Damian thought he might call an end to their work for the day. Damian himself considered complaining of the heat or a headache to gauge Father’s reaction.

He did not because a part of him did not wish this work to cease just yet. Going inside meant that Father would disappear into his office after he showered, and Damian would be expected to ‘entertain himself’ before patrol. Damian would not argue it, not when Father was working hard to solidify a union between Wayne Enterprises and a clean energy company from Metropolis.

This. This morning of planting and fresh air was Father’s break from all that. He did not have time for frivolous things.

Damian set aside his suspicions because they needed this. Father and he. Not because he wished to guard his time with his father alone. Father needed the time away from numbers and screens and spreadsheets with more information on them than one could hope to comprehend.

They worked through another row and Father was rolling his shoulders again. He was taking such frequent breaks that Damian considered doing both their work to keep them on schedule. At last, Pennyworth called a break, coming out with lemonade and sandwiches. egg salad for Damian, and tuna for Father.

Father sat with a sigh so audible Damian started. He ignored his sandwich in favor of eyeing his Father again, as the man relaxed back into the hard deck chair, going so far as to slouch against it. Father did not seem to notice Damian’s examination of him, or if he did he did not care.

The chair was not comfortable. Even Damian, small enough to curl into it, could not find a place that did not dig into him, back or hip or thigh. Yet Father looked like he’d sat on a cloud.

“Perhaps.” Damian ventured, “We should finish our work tomorrow.”

Father paused, glass of lemonade poised to drink. He set the cup down and looked at Damian with a quizzical air.

“It’s only eleven.” Father said.

There was something wrong, and no matter how much Damian wished to work by his Father’s side, he could not stay so selfish as to keep the man outside doing something that was obviously not comfortable.

“I have a headache.” Damian lied, then added, “We are at a good place to resume the work in the morning. The fencing is up, and I have instructed Titus that he is not to dig in the garden under any circumstances. The plants should be safe until we can finish.”

Father hummed, “We’ll have to clean up, but I supposed I could--”

“I can manage clean up.” Damian said, pushing his uneaten sandwich forward, “It is not so straining a task to put gloves and shovels away, or to cover the remaining plants.”

Something truly was wrong because Father agreed. He did not allow Damian to clean on his own, but worked with him until they’d put everything away for the day. Damian watched him from the periphery of his vision as they worked.

Father was moving slower than usual. He put things up where they did not go instead of bending, or gave them to Damian to be placed on low shelves or in the cabinets below the counter.

“I believe I can finish.” Damian said, “If we stagger our showers then I can be sure that the water is hot when I take one.”

“Damian, you do know the manor is large enough to have more than one water heater right?” Father asked.

Damian shrugged, “Our rooms are close together and on the same side of the building. I do not wish to take chances. Hot water is an excellent curative against headaches. Todd once told me that.”

Father chuckled, “Alright, you win. I’ll head in.”

Damian watched him go. Father seemed tired. Not tired, but simply bad. It was much like how Damian might feel after a particularly difficult number of days working a case, or how he reacted to days when emotional pressures made things feel overwhelming.

A shower and more work piled upon Father would not help him. Richard had taught Damian that on the numerous occasions Damian had attempted to work out his ‘feeling bad’.

Richard was also always telling Damian how alike he and Father were. It stood to reason that solutions Richard used to help Damian feel better would work as well on Father as they did on him. His brother did have more experience with Father than any of them (beyond Pennyworth) and his solutions had proved useful with Damian.

Damian rushed through his own shower. Then he threw off any pretense of headache as he rejected Pennyworth’s offers of pain medication and instead asked the man to prepare cocoa for both he and Father.

“He is not feeling good.” Damian told him, “I am endeavoring to help him feel better.”

Pennyworth smiled at him, “Have you determined the cause of ‘not feeling good’?”

Damian considered the question for a moment, “From his hesitancy to bend and difficulty in crouching earlier, and the lack of serious injuries sustained over the past week I would guess he is sore and possibly uncomfortable from bruising.”

“I think you are correct.” Pennyworth nodded, “I’ll prepare the cocoa, how are you planning to draw your father from his work?”

“I will think of something.” Damian said.

Father was massaging his temples when Damian walked in. His desk was not piled high with papers as Damian might assume. It was orderly, each pen lined evenly next to the other, or stored in a Wonder Woman mug (gifted to him by Todd years earlier). A number of tri-fold picture frames littered the back end of the desk, even and unbothered by dust.

It was Father who seemed to have taken the chaos on himself. His still wet hair was uncombed, or if it had been, mussed by numerous mussing by his own hand. Instead of dressing professionally as he would most days he was attempting to work at home, he was working in sweats and a loose shirt with some kind of graphic design Damian could only half make out.

Damian was struck by the realization that he was unsure what to do now. While they had been working together, Damian had often reacted out of irritation to his feeling bad, cluing Richard into the problem. Father had not done that, Damian had simply deduced the issue. Meaning Damian was lacking in examples of how to convince Father to rest without needing to soothe frayed nerves.

He settled for being Damian in this instance.

“Father.” Damian said, “I have determined that you are in need of a break.”

His father looked up at him blinking, “Damian--”

Damian didn’t let him argue, he walked over and took his father’s arm, “You will not do your best work on this project as you are now. Allow me to help you feel better.”

Father sighed, “I really need to get this done, son.”

“You still have time, even if you take a longer break.” Damian said, “You are not feeling good, I noticed it earlier while we were in the garden.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

He shifted, “I did not wish to interrupt our time together. I was enjoying working with you.”

Father smiled at him, “But you feigned a headache?”

“Your well being took precedence over my desires.” Damian said again, firm as he tugged on Father’s arm.

He hoped he could convince his father to rest. He was worried he wouldn’t be able to manage it. Not like Richard could. His brother seemed to have success with all his endeavors. He knew people well enough to be able to care for them properly.

Damian still could not claim to know his father well enough to know how to best help him. He could help Richard of course. He could also help Father to a limit. In the field, with difficult deductions. He could soothe fevers and comfort the lingering effects of toxin. He was simply unsure of how he could help Father in this instance if he did not agree with Damian.

Father shifted his arm, slipping it from Damian’s hand. Damian’s heart fell.

Then Father stood and scooped him up into his arms. Damian held back a yelp of surprise. This was not going at all like he had planned. Was Father going to bodily remove him from the room?

“You should not be carrying me, especially if you are dealing with soreness in your muscles and--”

“Hush.” Father said, voice soft, “You’re warm, so that must help with my soreness right?”

“Perhaps.” Damian agreed, “I have also asked Pennyworth to prepare some cocoa.”

“Oh?” Father asked, tucking his chair back into his desk before moving from the room, “How does that help cure soreness?”

“It does not.” Damian said, settling into the hold now that he was certain he was not being kicked out, but simply coddled. Father’s shirt was soft. “It is a cure for feeling bad. Richard used to make it to help me.”

Father hummed,they were now moving down the hallway, “Do you know where he learned that trick from?”

“I had assumed he made it up.”

They reached the living room where Father deposited Damian on the couch and tossed a blanket over his head. Damian scrambled to lift it and look back at his father, “He did not?”

“He did not.” Father confirmed, tossing a few of their fluffier cushions and a lumbar pillow over to Damian. “I used to use it to help him get over a bad day.”

Damian settled the lumbar pillow on the couch so it would be comfortable for Father, and then shuffled the remaining pillows around. He bundled the blanket in his arms as Father sat, then laid out on the couch. Damian shifted around his legs, then flopped over his father’s chest, tugging the blanket over them both.

“To keep you warm.” Damian explained.

Pennyworth came by with cocoa and cookies, telling them he’d set dinner back a few hours to make up for their filling up on sweets.

Damian attempted to pick at the cookies from his place flat on his Father’s chest, but lost more cookie to crumbs than he managed to eat. They both ended up sitting up. Damian scooted around to curl next to Father while they enjoyed their snacks.The blanket ended up kicked at Father’s feet.

When the plate was finished, Father ran his hand through Damian’s hair, “You could have told me you wanted to spend more time together.”

“I did not wish to bother you.”

Father leaned over and pressed a kiss into his hair, “You never bother me.”

Damian burrowed into his father’s side to hide his smile, "You also need the rest.”

“I do. Thank you for being so perceptive.” Father tugged him closer.

“Do you believe you will feel up to finishing our planting tomorrow?” Damian asked.

“With your help I could do it tonight.”

Damian shifted and looked up, frowning, “You should not--” he stopped seeing his Father’s grin, “You were not being literal.”

Father chuckled and shook his head. Damian nodded and leaned back against him. This was nice too. Much like the gardening, Damian enjoyed simply sitting alongside his father. Mother had rarely sat with Damian and Grayson was too active to wish to sit quietly for very long, even if they decided to watch television or play a game.

“Monster movies or documentaries?” Father said after a few minutes, leaning forward to scoop up the remote.

“Monster movies.” Damian decided, “They are humorous and diverting, perfect for distraction.”

Father selected an old Godzilla movie and both settled back into the couch. Damian snuggled closer to his father, with Father’s arm wrapped comfortably around him as the opening title flashed on screen.


End file.
